


The Weight of Your Gaze

by Illinia



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illinia/pseuds/Illinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis is optimistic. Porthos is cautious. Athos is, as ever, somewhat of a mystery to them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Your Gaze

**Author's Note:**

> Set at some point early in the second season. Established Aramis/Porthos.

Porthos could not have predicted the day that Athos finally decided to return their unspoken invitation to take comfort with them. On his more pessimistic days, he would have laid a bet that the day would never come. At the very least, he thought it might involve the relief of coming out of a situation at the more extreme end of their dangerous endeavours. As it was, what it apparently took, was an unusual amount of contentment.

They had spent a couple of days tracking the movements of a suspected English spy, only to discover that the spy was in fact a French sailor who had been shipwrecked some years previously; discovered barely alive on an English beach. Having spent some time recovering and managing to secure return passage to France, the sailor was searching for his family, asking questions all round Paris in an accent peppered with occasional English intonations. Once this was known, they aided his search, conscripting Constance with her enviable network of Parisian artisans. They had all been present at the eventual reunion and d’Artagnan had been aglow at the tavern later, following the moments of collective delight he had been able to share with Constance.

The conversation had flowed between them, though not from the quantity drunk, as it was the kind of evening during which none of them felt the urge to imbibe too deeply. D’Artagnan left first, Aramis wishing him sweet dreams with a salacious wink. Soon Porthos, Athos and Aramis were ambling calmly through the hazy streets of the late evening.

They arrived at Aramis’ lodging first and it was natural, nothing unusual, for them to stay when Aramis said he had managed to procure some Nantes brandy at a decent price. 

Porthos watched as Aramis took a sip of the slightly viscous liquid, his gaze turning heated as Aramis’ eyes closed for a second and he licked his lips. He had not forgotten Athos’ presence, but, whilst they were never overt, the time had long past that Aramis and he took great care to hide the depth of their affection for each other from their dear friend. 

Aramis met his gaze calmly, with a characteristic hint of brazenness, and Porthos knew he would not be leaving Aramis’ room for quite some time yet. 

“It’s good,” said Athos, his fingers loosely clasping the bottle’s neck.

“Mm,” Aramis assented, “Madame Brucasse is a woman of both excellent taste and godly honesty.”

“Can’t imagine why she’s got such a soft spot for you then.” Porthos’ interjection was swiftly followed by a kick to his shin. 

“Indeed, what a complex woman.” Athos spoke above Porthos’ curse.

Aramis sighed dramatically. “Is this how the day will end, with my dearest friends insulting me while they sit in my home, drinking my brandy?”

“How would you rather it end?” Athos queried dryly.

“I can think of several more pleasurable alternatives,” Aramis shot back quickly.

“Indeed.” Athos smiled distantly and glanced down at the bottle still in his hands.

An expression that was a little awkward and a little repentant passed across Aramis’ face as he looked at Porthos, but Porthos shrugged amiably, sure that Aramis had not managed to discomfort Athos to any great degree. He grabbed the bottle from Athos’ hands and took a long swig. Aramis raised an eyebrow.

“What? The more brandy we drink, the less opportunity we ‘ave to insult you, I reckon.”

They passed the bottle around companionably until Athos got up to leave. They went to the door to bid him goodnight and Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. “Today was a good day.”

Athos nodded. “It was.” 

He put his hat on and muttered a thanks to Aramis for the brandy. Aramis smiled in reply, but it was tight smile for him, the creases at the corners of his eyes barely showing. Porthos was left feeling wrong-footed, but he was used to that at times, with the tangled ways in which Aramis and Athos communicated. 

Athos waited patiently, knowing Aramis would break any silence. He did. 

“There is no need for it to end yet.” He crossed much of the small distance between himself and Athos and laid a hand on Athos’ shoulder, his thumb lightly brushing the worked leather there.

Porthos was man enough to admit to himself that he did not dare draw a breath. There were times when Athos’ ability to project an impassive façade, impenetrable even to them, was distinctly the man’s most annoying quality.

After several long, long moments, Athos brought a hand up to cover Aramis’. “No?” The left corner of his mouth twitched. “What do you suggest then?”

Silence reigned and Porthos grew a little lightheaded. Aramis looked as speechless as Porthos had ever seen him. His optimism was a given in their lives, but Athos had shattered a long held mould of reserve.

Suddenly, Athos laughed. “Of all the responses I might have imagined when I asked you that question Aramis, silence was not one of them.”

The gentle teasing coaxed them both into action and Aramis reached behind Athos to throw the lock on the door, as Porthos finally took a deep breath.

“It is traditional, I believe, to start with a kiss,” said Aramis softly. 

“Very well,” and with that, Athos cupped Aramis’ cheek with his gloved hand and tilted his head ever so slightly, to press his lips to Aramis’. They broke apart and Aramis smiled, his eyes lit truly this time with a glimmer of something between surprise and joy. It was beautiful and Porthos tried desperately to commit it irrevocably to his memory.

He then looked at Athos and found that the impassive façade had either fallen away or been deliberately dispensed with. Aramis led the way back into the room, away from the door, and Athos did not hesitate in following, with Porthos at his side. 

The expression of lust and temptation on Athos’ face was too much for Porthos, it made his core thrum with the excitement borne from forbidden fruit that had overtaken him the first time he had brought Aramis to climax. He pressed his lips to Athos’ and caught a groan and echoed it, himself, returning Athos’ surprise and passion. He started to feel a wildness building around himself at the edges of his consciousness and he reached out blindly for Aramis, needing him either as an anchor or to share wholly in the abandon. When Porthos leaned back to breathe and opened his eyes, Aramis was by them, connecting them shoulder to shoulder. He waited breathlessly to see Aramis and Athos kiss, as lovers this time, but instead they held each other’s gaze for a long moment. Just as Porthos opened his mouth to encourage them, Aramis took Athos’ face between his hands and kissed him lightly, twice over the sharpness of the cheekbone nearest to him; once to the corner of his eye. Athos blinked and was still suddenly, so very still. 

“What do you want?” Aramis spoke so quietly that Porthos had to focus to listen and when the words became clear, he waited eagerly for the response, fighting to keep his hands at his side.

Athos licked his lips and if it was a nervous gesture, it was not one Porthos had noted before. 

“Kiss Porthos,” Athos said, “show me how you kiss him.” There were shades of a command tone which amused Porthos but caused a slight shudder to pass through Aramis. Or perhaps, Porthos reconsidered, that was from the nature of Athos’ imperative.

Aramis shifted so he was facing Porthos more directly and smiled warmly, his arms encircling Porthos’ waist as he raised his face and caught Porthos’ lips. Porthos buried his hand in Aramis’ hair and deepened the kiss. He mapped Aramis’ mouth in a manner both comfortably familiar and yet always somehow desperate. He drew away, still not feeling entirely to have recovered his breath, and looked to see Athos’ reaction. 

Athos’ mouth quirked up again and he removed his hat and his gloves. Porthos knew without glancing across that Aramis was watching Athos as avidly as Porthos was. Porthos became keenly aware of his arousal and they all seemed terribly overdressed for the strength of the fervour that had already built around them. With a light curse, he shucked off his outer layers and Aramis copied him, more or less, and then started undoing the buttons of Athos’ doublet. As hints of Athos’ chest became revealed, Aramis hesitated and Porthos sympathised, comprehending how different it must feel to undress Athos with cautious lust rather than medical urgency. 

“Athos, are you sure?” Aramis kept his voice light, but not flippant.

Athos frowned. “How amusing, that it is now that you choose to display discretion.” 

Porthos was close enough to Aramis that he did not miss the flinch Athos’ words caused and he frowned reproachfully. Athos met him immediately with a hand up, apology clear across his face. Porthos shifted his weight foot to foot as he would before a fight, waiting to see what would come of the uncomfortable moment. 

He did not expect Aramis to end the moment by flicking down his braces and removing his shirt and breeches, but the fact that Aramis was frequently surprising was not an unattractive quality in Porthos’ view. 

Aramis must have been aware that the gazes of both Athos and Porthos were heavily fixed upon him, but his eyes were closed. He tilted his head back a little and Porthos was torn between watching Athos track the curve of Aramis’ lips and the delineation of his bared throat, or moving nearer and letting his own fingertips trace that path. Yet, there was something distinctly deliberate about Aramis’ movements and Porthos could be patient when he wished to be. As if he knew the detail of Porthos’ wishes, Aramis brought his own hand up to his throat and then let his touch drag down over his chest, passing smoothly, but with clear emphasis, over the cross that ever hung from his neck. Porthos waited for his hand to drift lower but as soon as his fingertips grazed the line of his braies, Aramis opened his eyes and let his hand fall. 

Athos’ breathing matched the pace of Porthos’ own. Aramis, for his part, looked between them and bit his lip. “Here I am Athos,” he said calmly into the heated air, “have you decided yet?”

Porthos’ heart ached a little with anxiety, there was such a weight to what was brewing between the three of them, and he could not imagine why he had thought it might come easily when he had first noticed the hints of desire in the way Athos had watched them. Yet his arousal, if anything, heightened at the realisation.

“I answered your question earlier and you were kind enough to fulfill my request.” Athos embellished the statement with a semi-curve of a smile and Porthos snorted.

Aramis huffed a little, and Porthos took him in his arms lightly, both concerned and a little relieved to see Aramis struggling too. “Come here,” Aramis called out to Athos.

Athos moved quickly, but there was a second of hesitation, too obvious for either of them to miss, who knew their comrade’s body language so intimately.

Athos took Aramis’ lips dominantly and Porthos moaned appreciatively when Aramis leant back to rebalance. Athos moved with him and all of a sudden they were perhaps closer than they had ever been, closer to being truly together, and Porthos’ blood sang a strong chorus. He reached out to Athos’ waist, needing the solid connection to him. Aramis nuzzled at Athos’ neck and Athos entangled a hand in Aramis’ hair, mirroring Porthos’ action from minutes before. Porthos could not tell whether the flexing of Athos’ hand meant he was trying to pull Aramis closer to him or further away, and there was something wrong, an unwelcome shadow, in that. Athos’ grasp tightened, Porthos could see it in the paleness of his knuckles, and Aramis moaned loudly. Aramis could handle the roughness, would likely wholeheartedly enjoy it, but somehow it seemed to Porthos that it was too soon for Athos to be so certain of that. Then again, Athos was Athos. 

Still, Porthos knew he needed to be sure; he and Aramis needed to be sure of Athos in this. He moved back and pulled Aramis with him. Aramis looked distractingly dishevelled already, his lips darkened and glistening slightly. Yet some clarity returned to his eyes after a moment and he took Porthos’ hand and kissed his fingers tenderly. 

“Athos, there is so much, so much that we have wanted to share with you, but,” Aramis paused, clearly trying to choose his words with care, “for all our sakes you must be able to accept whatever we choose to do tonight, afterwards. So please answer my question, what is it that you want tonight and that you can allow yourself to have?”

Athos skimmed a hand through his hair, mussing it endearingly, and glanced away. “Did you ask Porthos this, the first time you two fell into bed?”

Aramis shook his head. “You are not Porthos and he is not you.” 

Porthos snorted but refrained from voicing his agreement.

“I did answer earlier, in a way, but perhaps I then let myself get… carried away.”

“You just said you wanted to see me and Aramis kiss.”

“Yes, and I did. Some of what you say you have both wanted to share with me, I want to,” Athos grimaced a little and it was novel to see him lost for words, “I believe I need to witness it.”

“So you c’n work out if you want to join in?”

“Something like that.” 

Porthos nodded. He did not feel he truly understood but he knew Athos well enough that it seemed right for him. They looked to Aramis expectantly.

“Yes, yes of course, I think I see.”

“You are not disappointed?” Athos asked with little inflection.

Aramis shrugged. “Perhaps it is not precisely how I hoped tonight might go, but I cannot deny that there is something appealing in this idea, too. Can I have a kiss, before we proceed?”

“Of course.” 

Aramis stepped forward eagerly and Athos met him easily, gently pushing him away after a lingering, but relatively chaste kiss. He then pulled a chair nearer the bed and stood with one hand on its back. He surveyed them both almost critically.

“Perhaps I shall participate just in the beginning,” he said, and pulled Porthos’ shirt up to his shoulders. Porthos shivered a little at the unexpected touch and gratefully completed the manoeuvre, letting the fabric conceal the pleased surprise that would have been more than evident on his face.

Athos took his position. 

“Come here,” Aramis whispered to Porthos, holding out an arm, a fond warmth softening the lust in his dark eyes. 

Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis, his hands stroking over Aramis’ upper arms, first to banish the slight chill he found there, and then to let his fingertips feel the glide of skin over muscle. 

“Tease,” accused Aramis, before nipping at Porthos’ jaw. Porthos huffed out a breath. He then saw Aramis shift his focus and knew he must be making eye contact with Athos as his hands kneaded the base of Porthos’ neck. A burst of arousal had Porthos emitting a sound that was closer to a growl than a groan and he ripped his breeches off before pivoting and tumbling Aramis down to the bed. 

He straddled Aramis and glanced to the side, knowing Athos now had a full profile view of them both. Athos looked relaxed, but for the intensity of his watchfulness. 

“’M gonna show you Athos, how sensitive he is, here,” he dipped the tip of his tongue into the hollow of Aramis’ throat, “and here,” he let a hand trail down Aramis’ chest until his nails swept over a peaked nipple. He felt Aramis gasp and squirm a little beneath him, as he saw the hand that Athos had rested on a knee twitch. 

“You have become such a tease tonight,” Aramis admonished, his nails lightly scratching Porthos’ back. 

Porthos turned his face from Athos to Aramis, searching for any kind of plan or expectation in Aramis’ expression. It was strange, this underlay of a performance in the way they were holding each other; holding themselves. Porthos had never been one to court an external gaze when he shared his body with another, even as a much younger man, he had always searched out privacy when possible. He knew himself well enough to know he would not be enjoying himself if it was anyone but Athos playing their audience. He shook the introspection away and shifted to kiss Aramis’ collarbone; his sternum; to touch the point of his tongue to a dusky nipple. Aramis exhaled abruptly and Porthos remembered his earlier words, the thrill of arousal that had shot through him even as he said them. He had an unlooked for opportunity to gift Athos with something deeply treasured. 

He let his tongue travel further across Aramis’ chest. 

“Oh, oh, Porthos, so beautiful when you are thoughtful, my friend.”

Porthos did not hide his pleased smile this time, though he was not sure Athos could see his expression well. His brow was starting to sweat and an undeniable sense of need was rising to the forefront of his consciousness. His remaining linens were becoming an unpleasant constraint but it seemed a bold step to remove them. 

As ever, Aramis knew his need and his graceful fingers were unravelling laces even as Porthos was quarrelling with himself. Aramis pulled the material down to his thighs and Porthos leaned up to finally free himself of all restriction. He heard a sharp inhalation as his nudity was bared and it only took a glance at Aramis’ sudden grin to comprehend that the sound had come from Athos. Porthos moaned a curse into Aramis’ shoulder, causing Aramis to chuckle. In retaliation, Porthos cupped Aramis firmly through his braies. Aramis groaned in surprise, his own hand reflexively moving on top of Porthos’ to increase the pressure further. After a second, Aramis regained control of himself and moved his hand to Porthos instead, his fingertips caressing Porthos’ cock. Porthos huffed. The touch was light but he felt overheated already, everything heightened by the spice of Athos’ presence.

He needed to know that he was not the only one who felt it and focussed his attention first on Aramis. His lover’s mouth was slightly parted and Porthos kissed him, kissed to plump those lips further, kissed to bruise. He worried Aramis’ tongue with his own and then released him, savouring the half broken moan that breached the gap that he had created. Aramis’ eyes were creased with something close to pain and Porthos fought back his own moan, he was confident enough in his ability to take Aramis to this point with intense dedication, but he had never managed it so quickly before. 

“I need…” 

Porthos raised an eyebrow at Aramis’ whisper and imagined that the creak he heard might have been Athos shifting forward in his chair. “What darlin’?”

Aramis shook his head against the pillow in frustration. “I don’t know.” His eyes were imploring Porthos to understand what he was failing to say – something was not enough; something was too much. 

“Let’s get you naked,” Porthos responded, more from not knowing what else to do than feeling that it would bring Aramis back closer to his equilibrium. He would normally take the chance to revel in this but his wiser self kept repeating Aramis’ words from before – this had to be something they could accept, cherish even, when the spice and desperate heat had abated.

Porthos moved back and Aramis moved up with him, kneeling on the bed. They worked on the ties to his braies together and when they were undone enough, Porthos cupped him once more, flesh to flesh. He let Aramis fill his senses, the feel of his arousal, the way his head tipped slightly back as Porthos flexed his grip, the tightening of his muscles. 

He jerked back a little. That was too soon, even for the powerful atmosphere of this encounter. But it was not that Aramis was close. There was another scent in his nostrils and a second later, a pair of hands around Aramis’ waist. Consumed with Aramis as he had been, Porthos had not registered the sound of Athos rising from his chair. Or, perhaps, Athos had chosen to move silently, as was in his capacity. Perhaps the first Aramis had known of it was the soldier’s instinctive reaction to someone at his back. 

Aramis had stilled, looking almost afraid to look away from Porthos. In his place, Porthos was sure he would have immediately reached his hands back to feel certain of Athos, to silently voice his wish for him to stay there, but things were different between Athos and Aramis, they always had been. There was an ever present tentativeness to their interactions; Porthos could feel it even when both took care to hide it. 

So it fell to him to ask. “Athos?”

“Just this,” Athos replied, and tightened his grip, lifting Aramis enough that Porthos could pull his braies away. 

After this motion, Aramis seemed to relax somewhat, turning his head to lay a cheek against Athos’ chest. Porthos felt something in his heart ease too; more so when Athos resettled against the wall at the head of the bed, pulling Aramis to rest against his chest.

Aramis’ let a hue of lasciviousness play across his face as he shared a smile with Porthos and made a small show of getting comfortable. “Just this?”

“Just this,” Athos confirmed, with a warning hold on Aramis’ upper arm. 

Aramis reached out for Porthos. Porthos let himself stalk nearer, deciding that if Aramis could be comfortable with this new, but limited proximity, then he could make the most of it too. He met Aramis in a kiss, keeping his eyes open, meeting Athos’ gaze, and not knowing if the incandescence he saw there was just a reflection of his own. The desire to ask Aramis if he could feel whether Athos was aroused was suffocating him.

The kiss turned fervent, verging on obscene to an audience Porthos supposed. Aramis was stroking his hands down Porthos’ chest, his arms, so quickly it built into one blanketing sensation that was starting to overwhelm Porthos. He moved in closer, bracing himself with a hand to the wall by Athos’ head. 

“Come here, come here,” Aramis pulled at his hips, attempting to get them to align with his own. It would have been easier if Aramis shifted forward but Athos’ hands were once again at his waist and Porthos groaned, was Athos holding Aramis to himself?

He moved crosswise to get himself in the right position and Aramis’ inhalation was verging on a sob as they finally met. Porthos’ control was rapidly becoming a tattered, shredded thing falling from his grasp but he managed to focus for a second on Athos’ expression, knowing he would have to act now if there was any discomfort apparent. Athos was looking at Aramis, whose eyes had fluttered closed. When he looked across, no doubt feeling the weight of Porthos’ attention, his expression was warm. His breathing was accelerated, though nowhere near the rate of Porthos and Aramis’ own. Porthos craned his neck down to brush a kiss against Athos’ cheekbone, then gave in to the need to arch his back and let his hips roll forward again and again. 

Aramis muttered something, Porthos could not make it out, but the tone was awed, as if Aramis beheld something sacred. His fingertips pressed urgently into the flesh of Porthos’ hips and buttocks. Aramis’ eyes snapped open at a thrust that was harder than the others and there was a sheen in his eyes and suddenly Porthos’ succumbed to his release, giving a short, choked yell. Athos made a noise and it was that which likely tipped Aramis over. He fell quietly, his back a quivering bow and his throat bared so close to Athos’ mouth. 

Porthos forced his outstretched arm to tighten so he did not collapse on them both, but he let his head hang down, his breathing not slowing for some time. One of Aramis’ hands massaged his thigh soothingly. No one spoke. 

Porthos leaned back on his heels, then ducked down to lap at their spend, which had mostly decorated Aramis’ stomach and chest. It was not rare for either of them to do so and Aramis only reacted with a shiver, but a surprised grunt came from Athos. 

“I know, he is a terror,” Aramis said in a fondly amused tone.

Porthos smirked and ended his labours by swirling his tongue in the sensitive dip of Aramis’ throat. 

“A _fiend_ , Athos.”

“Apparently so,” Athos drawled. 

Porthos nipped at Aramis’ collarbone in a final riposte, before leaning back once more. Some of the humour fell from him as Aramis shifted to try and catch sight of Athos’ face. 

“Do you need…?” He let the question trail off discreetly, as was his wont at times. He shifted again and there was a sudden hitch in Athos’ breath and Athos’ hands flew back to Aramis’ waist to still him. Evidently, Aramis was aware that Athos was in a particular state and, at this point, that was nothing but a relief to Porthos.

Aramis shared a concerned glance with Porthos, which was likely not missed by Athos, who drew in a long breath and moved his hands to rub twice up and down Aramis’ upper arms. “I am well, just stay a moment.”

As Aramis relaxed, Athos let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. Porthos lay down on his side, propping his head up, wise enough to spend as long as he was allowed drinking in the sight of the two people he loved most in the world, content together. Aramis’ eyes flicked over to him and, upon seeing Porthos’ expression, he reached a hand out, clasping one of Porthos’ and giving him one of the most tender smiles anyone had ever bestowed upon Porthos. 

Porthos knew from experience that Aramis would become chilled soon, but also knew that Aramis would share his desire to let Athos give the cue for movement, so he rested, occasionally rubbing the curve of Aramis’ palm with his thumb. 

He could not have accurately said how much time had passed when Athos tapped at Aramis’ arm to get him to let Athos move. However much it was, it felt too soon to the most sentimental part of Porthos’ heart. Aramis took the chance to slip under the blankets but he then turned to the side, mirroring Porthos’ position, so that Athos could not construe the action as any kind of dismissal.

Athos took in their similitude and favoured them with a half smile. “Believe me when I say you have never looked more like brothers, gentlemen.”

“’m not sure you should say things like that, after what we just did.”

Athos sighed. “Perhaps not.” He was refastening his doublet, but slowly, and it was as close to hesitation as one was likely to see from Athos. 

Porthos waited, but of course it was Aramis who broke the silence.

“You know you can stay.” His tone was airy, and they all knew the offer was made with no expectation of acceptance.

Athos nodded, then went to one knee by the side of the bed, and kissed Aramis’ temple. Aramis gave a sleepy murmur of pleasure and turned over to watch as Athos found his hat and gloves and walked to the door, gripping the hand that Porthos outstretched for a moment as he passed.

He looked at them warmly just before exiting, the same kind of look he might give them if he was leaving them to more drink and each other’s company on the rare nights that he retired early. It left Porthos feeling lighter than any profession of future intentions would. 

He clambered off the bed and padded over to throw the latch on the door, pissed, then lifted the blankets up to slide in next to Aramis. Aramis lay a hand over Porthos’ cheek. “Porthos,” he whispered significantly, “ _Porthos._ ”

Porthos grinned. “I know, darlin’, I know.”


End file.
